


Chill Breeze

by FriendOfBeer



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, F/F, I promise, a lot of mistery, nothing bad happens to our guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 03:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendOfBeer/pseuds/FriendOfBeer
Summary: The storm died seconds before hitting the town. Max and Chloe are free, and Arcadia Bay is saved. But when the prophecy is crushed, those who were ready are left seething, and they will do anything to regain control.





	Chill Breeze

“Max, this is the only way.”

“I feel like I took this shot a thousand years ago.”

“You... You could use that photo to change everything right back to when you took that picture... All that would take is for me to... to…”

“Fuck that! No... no way! You are my number one priority now. You are all that matters to me.”

“I know. You proved that over and over again... even though I don't deserve it. I'm so selfish... not like my mom... Look what she had to give up and live through... and she did. She deserves so much more than to be killed by a storm in a fucking diner. Even my step... father deserves her alive. There's so many more people in Arcadia Bay who should live... way more than me…”

“Don't say that... I won't trade you.”

“You're not trading me. Maybe you've just been delaying my real destiny... Look at how many times I've almost died or actually died around you. Look at what's happened in Arcadia Bay ever since you first saved me. I know I've been selfish, but for once I think I should accept my fate... our fate…”

“Chloe…”

“Max, you finally came back to me this week, and... you did nothing but show me your love and friendship. You made me smile and laugh, like I haven't done in years. Wherever I end up after this... in whatever reality... all those moments between us were real, and they'll always be ours. No matter what you choose, I know you'll make the right decision.”

“Chloe... I can't make this choice…”

“No, Max... You're the only one who can.”

Something changed. Max gasped for air, looking around erratically, as if lost.

“I... Chloe, I don't... Chloe, what is... what is going on, Chloe?”

“Max?”

“I am... remembering something? Seeing? I... Oh. Chloe.” The change in her voice was subtle, yet so obvious. How Max pronounced her name, immeasurably gently, and with so much pain, and also relief. The cold in her voice seemed like that of a prehistoric iceberg drifting towards equator. Thawing. Her precious blue eyes, suddenly so piercing and violent, filled with tears again; it was visible even in this heavy rain. The girl smiled. Chloe just stared at her, bewildered.

“Max, the photo…”

Max looked at the small Polaroid card in her hands. A blue butterfly sitting on an old bucket's rim in the girls' restroom. She pursed her lips and scowled just a bit, as if in pain.

Then ripped the photograph in half.

Chloe stood there, not realising yet that her life had just been allowed to go on, and the existence of Arcadia Bay — made to cease. By that point, she had almost convinced herself that she wasn't afraid of vanishing, that it was the right thing to do. But the small adorable indie girl just decided otherwise. Evidently, she put her blue-haired, weed-smoking friend above everyone else.

Could Chloe possibly blame Max? Of course not. She herself would do the same.

“Max, I'll always be with you.”

She took the smaller girl's hand and intertwined fingers with hers. But Max gently freed her hand, smiling and looking straight into Chloe's eyes:

“Forever.”

Then she stepped aside, a bit towards the cliff, and gazed upon the storm. The behemoth of a hurricane swirled violently, bringing thousands of tonnes of seawater mixed with whales, fish and quite a few boats high in the air. Roaring, glowing from inside. Literally seconds remained before it would hit the town, razing it clean.

“Fuck off!” yelled Max, raising hands. Then she started chanting, quietly at first, gradually becoming louder and louder, until her voice matched the howl of the storm. The words spoken into the air were strange, sounding very unnaturally and almost painfully. It seemed as if they resonated through the ground and the rocks underneath, the walls of the lighthouse, through grass and swaying trees. Chloe could have sworn she could hear them from inside of her head, as stopping the ears did nothing to silence the voice of Max.

Inexplicable happened to the storm. It stopped moving towards the town, as if held back by a force unseen. Its walls started warping, wronging the impeccable funnel shape. The unnatural light from its bowels began blinking by fits and starts, almost fading now only to glaringly shine a second later. The storm was struggling. Slowly dying. Tears appeared, multiplying as the time went; the speed, with which the hurricane spun, was steadily going down; and the whole body of it began shrinking.

It continued on for several long minutes before the storm finally gave in, turning into a slim thread of water, then completely fading away. A number of vessels and dead whales were now scattered around the beach and the bay. It was still raining, although not as heavily. Arcadia Bay stood. Max yelped, then fell silent and sank to the ground.

* * *

The local hospital was packed: even though Arcadia Bay miraculously avoided being crushed by the forces of nature, a lot of people were injured by flying debris and other secondary causes. There were some casualties. 

Thus it was no wonder that Max wasn't actually given her own room, but a bed in a corridor, semi-enclosed by movable screens from other patients in a row. Her condition was fine, though; after her waking up and some tests the doctors said the blackout had probably been caused by stress, and, since no symptoms of underlying illness had been found, Max was free to go. It was a bit past nine in the evening, and Chloe reclined on the reception desk, watching her friend sign the papers. She saw the girl’s face, calm, yet a little bit lost. Max didn’t remember anything after their talk about photo-jumping, at least not clearly. She could only describe what she felt then: remembering and forgetting something simultaneously, strange deep sorrow followed by a calm, almost serene feeling of assurance. She didn’t recall either shouting anything, or somehow stopping the storm. Max only kept repeating right after waking up that now everything was going to be good.

She had also, apparently, lost her rewinding powers, and Chloe could only feel happy about it. 

Max finished writing. “Okay, I’m done,” she said, looking at Chloe and lightly smiling. “God, I hate hospitals.”

“Yeah, don’t like this place. Insurance problems and… unpleasant memories.”

“Well, yeah, that, too.” Max contemplated for a moment. “Chloe, do you mind going see Kate? She must still be here.”

“Kate? Ah, yeah, sure. Right, I kinda forgot about her.” She stumbled for a second. “Well, only if you feel alright, though.”

“I feel good, Chloe, really good.”

“Then let’s go.”

They went into the inpatient ward and headed to the room they had already visited yesterday. Damn it was a long time ago, thought Chloe. It was still fucking Friday, and so much shit had happened since coming here on Thursday. The storm, Jefferson, the whole time-travel clusterfuck, Rachel… Rachel’s remains at the junkyard. God, fuck, no. She absolutely couldn’t let herself think about it, not now. Not when they were still in the hospital, and with Kate around. Later. There will be time.

Chloe pulled herself together and followed Max into the room -- only to find some old bandaged lady sleeping in the bed. No belongings of Kate’s in sight, too, apart from a bit deflated air balloons in the corner. 

“She’s supposed to be here,” stated confused Max, gently closing the door as they returned to the corridor. 

“Maybe she’s been discharged already...”

“Max!” they heard an excited holler, after which a tiny blonde-haired girl in pajamas barged into her friend, fiercely hugging. Max reciprocated, and the two stood like that for a good half a minute, holding each other in arms. When they finally released, Kate looked at Chloe and, suddenly a bit embarrassed, reached out her hand.

“Uh, hello, Chloe. I didn’t see you at first, sorry”.

Smirking, Chloe refused the handshake and instead hugged Kate herself, properly squeezing the tiny rib cage and lifting the girl in the air, making her squeal a little.

“That’s right,” Chloe released the overwhelmed girl. “I believe we’ve never really met before, however, Max told a lot about you. I think we should hang out”.

“Okay. I mean, yes, of course, I’d be glad to. Max told me about you, too”.

“Nothing too indecent, I hope?”

“Not at all!” Kate smiled. “She loves you very-very much.”

“Reeaaally? Just like that?” stretched Chloe with a grin growing on her face. Max, however, suddenly had to cough and scratch her face. 

Kate hurried to add, “Since you’ve been friends for so long. I mean, almost like a fam… like sisters.” She now looked a bit like a lone sheep amidst the night. “I love my sisters very much, too.”

Trying to hold a cackle, Chloe responded:

“Yeah, family is… cool.”

“Kate, why are you not in your room? I thought you would stay at least until the next week,” Max intervened, changing the subject.

“Oh, I was just feeling well, and after the storm there were too many people coming, so I asked to give my room to Mrs. Carragher. She had a concussion.”

Chloe felt a small lump in her throat. If the tornado hit the town, this girl would probably be dead by now, crushed under the crumbled hospital. It felt so strange, thinking about, imagining this parallel reality where everything could be so different. Or, maybe, it is the reality somewhere, somewhen? Were those timelines Max told of still there, existing? Were they completely erased? Chloe felt that all this was supposed to go down much, much worse than it eventually did. How did Max do it? How the hell are they all still alive?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Chloe! Stop burdening yourself with this emo shit, it’s over now, o-ver, everything is gonna be good. You’ll have your share of nightmares, so at least don’t think about it when awake.

“Now I’m in a room for four down the hall, but I probably won’t stay at the hospital for long. I think I will be able to return to classes on Monday.”

“That’s great to hear, Kate,” Max hugged her slightly once again. “I’m happy you’re feeling good.”

“Thanks, Max. I’m really looking forward to get over this… stuff. We should…”

That very moment Kate was abruptly interrupted by a soul-freezing shriek from somewhere downstairs. Despite the noises of talking, clatter, occasional moans filling the hospital, the scream was strong enough to rip through them. Everyone around fell silent and stood still, listening. Some of the staff rushed to the source.

Perplexed, Chloe glanced at the girls:

“The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” Max frowned, looking in the direction from where the scream came. “It’s as if it was from downstairs. But we’re on the first floor already.”

Kate also seemed dumbfounded:

“I believe the hospital has a vast underground area. Probably some storages, maintenance rooms, and there is also the small vault we stayed in during the storm today. Also the morgue… Oh, Lord.”

Chloe saw how Kate in a matter of seconds became pale as snow. Poor girl was Christian as fuck, as far as she knew from what Max had told, and probably believed in all sorts of paranormal bullshit. Not that Chloe could blame her now, considering. Anyway, she herself felt more curious than scared:

“Some spooky shit right there, ladies. Let’s go see.”

“What? Chloe, no!” However, despite her words, Max instead followed Chloe down the hall and then down the stairs to the basement, alongside with some nurses and a police officer. The underground level wasn’t frightening by itself; the same white walls and fluorescent lamps. But the screams continued, irregularly, and clattering was heard from behind the morgue door.

It opened the moment they got close, and a forensic pathologist man with bulging eyes darted out of there, tripping over his own feet and falling down on the floor. He went on crawling until stopped at the wall and finally saw other people around.

“This fucker… He’s standing right fucking there,” said the man brokenly, waving in the direction of the morgue. The door was ajar and blocked what was inside, so Chloe had to make a few steps towards there to have a proper look. As she did, she found the pathologist’s words quite on point.

There, beside those creepy shiny tables for corpses, butt-naked, shivering, covered in eerie purple bruises on the left side and with a dark-red round spot in the center of his forehead, stood motherfucking Nathan Prescott.

He moved his head a little, peering blankly into the girl’s eyes. His mouth opened, letting a single wheezing word:

“Price.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

* * *

It turned out, Nathan Prescott hadn't, in fact, turned into a zombie. They had to put him into the resuscitation unit, but, despite having a 9 millimeter bullet in the brain and something that looked suspiciously like (though, apparently, wasn’t) livor mortis, he was still pretty much alive. To Nathan’s father, Sean Prescott, they said that the boy’s condition was now critical but stable. There, the man looked absolutely lost, which was really a sight to behold and amused Chloe quite a bit: from her Blackwell days she remembered him as a massive jerk.

It was strange that Nathan survived. Even stranger was that she didn’t hate him anymore. That is, of course the Prescott was still a massive moron, but Chloe didn’t want to murder him now or even severely cripple. Ever since Max woke up in the hospital, alive and smiling, her friend had a warm feeling of calmness inside her chest. That was unusual, to say the least: for the past five years life had been more of a neverending rollercoaster, where euphoric highs were followed by depressive and aggressive lows. Even with Rachel around. Especially with her. And now, everything seemed just the way it had always been supposed to be. The storm was gone, as was the photofucker, and all the everyday problems no longer looked that serious. The shit was over.

Having parted with Kate, Chloe followed Max outside to the overcrowded parking lot. It was dark and chilly there; the single not-so-full moon shone from the sky over the town. In its pale soft light the truck stood where it had been left.

Joyce had made it absolutely clear that the only place Max was going to go now was their home. Normally Chloe would be ready to object, but now she found herself genuinely wanting to return to her family. Even to David, the Step-someone. Although he was probably still with his cop buddies, given the circumstances. Those were rough days.

“Chloe, the seatbelt,” said Max as they got into the car. The girl’s voice was unusually stern. 

“You don’t believe in my driving skills?” She fastened the belt, nonetheless. 

“I don’t believe in this monstrosity on wheels.” 

“How rude! My baby is alright on the inside, you know it.”

“Chloe, I don’t want you to die in a stupid crash after all this.” Max sighed. “Sorry. Just be careful.”

Chloe looked at her for a moment, then smiled and thoughtlessly moved the off brown strand from the girl’s forehead.

“Sure thing”.

Even in the moonlight the red on Max’s cheeks was visible as the girl quickly turned her head away, muttering something unintelligible. With a dumb grin Chloe started the engine and rode from the hospital. 

* * *

When they arrived to the old half-painted house, Joyce was already standing on the driveway. Her face looked tired, but relieved.

“Oh, God, finally. What took you so long?” She asked, giving Max and her daughter a fierce mama bear hug. Chloe let out an exaggerated moan.

“Mom, you’re gonna crush us!”

“You’re two grown up women, I ain’t gonna do anything to you.” Finally Joyce released them and sighed. “God, I was so scared. That… hurricane, and then Max was unconscious. Max, do you feel good now? I can make you chamomile tea.”

“I am alright, Joyce, thank you. I would like some tea, though.”

“I’ll go put the kettle, then. Chloe, you?”

“I’d prefer some of thaaat stuff,” she pointed to the dining table, where stood an opened bottle of wine and a single glass. It seems her mother had found a way to overcome anxiety.

“Oh, that. Well, David and I…”

“...Decided to celebrate your sudden salvation?” quickly finished Chloe before Joyce would try to awkwardly and needlessly explain drinking alone.

“Uh, yes. Yes. As I said, this whole storm situation was fierce.” After a thought the woman just waved her hand. “Ah, why the hell not. Chloe, the bottle is almost empty, get another one from the drawer, you know which one. And, girls, how do you see pancakes for dinner?”

“Perfectly appropriate, mom.”

Having closed the door after everyone had come in, Joyce put her apron on and went to the countertop. She put a kettle on the fire right away, threw a chamomile tea bag into a large yellow cup, then quickly took everything necessary for pancakes and started masterfully, almost automatically prepare the batter. Looking at the woman, Max felt just how devastated she would be if the storm hit the town, burying the diner under its heavy waters.

“Do you need help, Joyce?”

“No, sweetie, I’ll handle it. Cooking always calmed me, anyway; God knows I need some of that right now.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Two Whales will need a fair share of repairs, that’s for sure, but no one died there.” She sighed. “We would, though, had the storm not disappeared. It was heading straight towards us. You know, Max, I’m not very religious and all, but how this thing stopped looked like a real deal miracle from the Bible. I mean, there were whales flying, whales! And then it just — poof! — disappeared.”

Joyce stopped for a bit to pour the hot water in the cup before adding, “And the sound.”

“The sound?”

“I heard it when the tornado began to collapse. At first I thought It was just my imagination, stress and all that, but others heard it as well.”

“What was it like?”

“It was… very strange. Unpleasant. Like a lot of shrieks, and cries, and all sorts of things. I don’t know, as if some people were screaming, only it was way too loud to be so. It seemed that the sound came from the storm, at least a large portion of it; it was kind of everywhere at once really.” She stopped for a second, smiled and shook her head. “Well, now just look at me spewing nonsense, talking all paranormal. Obviously, it was some meteorological phenomenon that we just don’t know anything about yet. Bet the scientists will be coming in packs soon.”

“Yeah, probably.” Max agreed plainly. The sound, cries in the wind. Just what in the world has she done up there at the lighthouse? She surely didn’t remember much, only fragmentary images, emotions and the distinct feeling of forgetting. A nice feeling, somehow. 

With an audible pop Chloe opened another bottle of wine and poured some in two glasses: for herself and for Joyce. She then looked at Max inquiringly.

“Want some?”

“No, the tea will be enough. I am fine now, of course, but don’t wanna stretch my luck.”

“Reasonable. Well, more for us.” The girl squeezed the cork back, then collapsed on the chair. “Man, I’m hella tired.”

Max definitely could relate. Although she spent a couple hours unconscious, it wasn’t really a good sleep, and the unnaturally long (both metaphorically and quite literally) week of constant stress had, it seems, finally caught up with her. Now, sitting at the old familiar table, sipping the hot tea, the girl could let herself feel deeply exhausted.

“I feel you, partner. What a shitshow.” 

“Well, it turned out pretty good in the end.”

“Mostly; some people died today, still.”

Chloe finished her glass in a big gulp and leaned on the table, looking at Max from under a deep frown.

“Look, you can’t save them all. And you didn’t have to, Max, that wasn’t your choice to get these dumb superpowers without any instructions attached. Still, what you did there was amazing, unbelievable and — yeah — not really understandable at all. But this whole town owes you big time, and you should accept it. Just take a break, alright. You earned it.”

“Chloe, I know, I know, just saying. Don’t worry, I won’t blame myself for the rest of my days or anything. Thank you.” Max sighed. “I mean, it  _ is  _ pretty good. Arcadia Bay is still here, our friends are alive, Joyce and David are fine. And… you are alive, too.” 

She smiled, then abruptly stopped. Chloe was right in front of her, relaxing and drinking, her dyed blue hair framing the most beautiful face in the world. The beautiful eyes, the beautiful skin, the beautiful lips — has she always been like that?  _ Yes, always, _ Max thought. When they were playing pirates, and when they wrote notes to each other during classes, and... when Joyce came home crying. When William died. Why did this face always had to be covered in tears and pain?

It was suddenly a bit harder to breathe, but the feeling was really pleasant; as if falling down on a giant rollercoaster. A painful, most sweet feeling. The feeling of spring, of pine trees, of sea. The feeling of  _ her _ laughter, of  _ her _ smell, of  _ her _ ever warm presence. 

“Max? Are you okay?”

_ Her voice. _

Max blinked, composing herself.

“Y-yes, just happy you’re safe.”

The girl on the other side of the table leaned closer, so that Joyce couldn’t hear. Max’s heart almost stopped when she felt the blue hair touch her cheeks. Chloe whispered:

“I still cannot believe this. That fucking… You know, when I pulled you up to the lighthouse, I already didn’t expect to survive this. Just… the understanding, it was there. It just couldn’t end well for me.”

“It did…”

“It did.” Chloe looked her straight in the eyes. Max could feel the girl’s soft sweet breathing. “Max. I don’t know what to say. I guess, we are finally free and it feels unreal. Everything looks so… different now, way better than before. And the future isn’t so shitty anymore.”

Chloe kept silence for several seconds, still leaning over the table and watching into the opposite pair of eyes, but then collapsed back into the chair and swiftly refilled her glass. She smiled once again, staring nowhere in particular.

Joyce came, bearing three plates with pancake mounds, large pieces of butter melting on top. Max couldn’t help but have a wide grin on her face; the smell always evoked a tingling warm sensation of distant childhood inside her. How hard did she want to go back there sometimes.

“Thank you, Joyce. Looks as delicious as ever.” 

“Well, take a bite then. Maybe your eyes have betrayed you.”

Very much unlike Chloe (who was now basically draining her pancakes in the maple goodness) Max usually didn’t like them with syrup. She took a fork and a knife and sliced off a well-buttered piece.

“Nope, all fine. Joyce, please don’t tell my mom, but ever since we moved to Seattle I’d been missing your pancakes. There is just something special about them.”

“Only my love and decades of practice, dear.”

“Don’t believe my mom.” Joined Chloe. “It’s magic. My mom is a witch.”

Joyce clicked her tongue and pushed the girl in the shoulder playfully.

“What nonsense! I am Christian!”

“That’s what they say.”

“Oh, shut it.” Joyce laughed a bit, than drank from her glass. “Actually, Chloe, you reminded me of something.”

“Of how your last sabbat went?”

“No, Chloe. But now that I think about that, it is somehow pretty close. I guess. I called Rose today -- you know her, from the diner -- just to see if she’s okay.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, thank God. Anyway, we talked a little, about this and that. It was her day off today, so she went to Tillamook to visit her brother and missed the whole storm. But on her way from Arcadia Bay in the morning she saw some people throwing something in the ocean. Pretty weird.”

“You mean, like garbage?”

“No. Rose told it seemed really off. She stopped her car to see better and says that they had these big metal-looking vessels with some dark liquid inside. Most of the people were standing in a kind of a semi-circle while some took those vessels and poured whatever there had been into the ocean. It just seemed weird to Rose.”

Chloe glanced at Max with a smirk on her face.

“Wow, blood sacrifice -- pastor Kim’s gonna freak. Mom, are you sure Rose is still, you know,  _ the same _ ? They could possess her mind.”

Joyce sighed, though couldn’t hold the slight curved smile.

“Chloe, that is a serious matter, I don’t want any cultists roaming the streets of our town, above all. And Rose is fine, she just rode off from there before they could notice.”

It was as if a very subtle murmur came from outside the open door to the yard. Something almost audible, almost intelligible. Max tried to understand the words -- they seemed painfully familiar -- but couldn’t. 

She thought of what Joyce had said.  _ Sacrifice? I wonder if that is connected to all this time travel bullshittery. God, I hope those are just random weirdos.  _ She hadn’t really figured out what the source of her powers had been, not at all. Chaos theory… What dit Chaos theory have to deal with visions, and spectral animals, and that obscure straight up sorcery on the cliff? Could there be some kind of paranormal understanding of it? It just seemed so tiresome at this point.

Max definitely had had enough of stress and worry for now. She was happy the week was over and didn’t want to think at all about it or what it could mean. All she wanted was to eat the pancakes, drink the tea and fall asleep with Chloe.

* * *

Sean Prescott was smoking on the empty viewpoint above Arcadia Bay. The town lay silent, calm, apart from occasional cars running through empty streets. It was sleeping.  _ Alive. _

Nothing added up. The Storm came, it was swirling right there, blocking half of the sky! But then it disappeared, just like that. And the noise, that awful noise, the screams and cries -- what was that? Where did it all come from?

It was never supposed to be like that. Something went horribly, horribly wrong, and the only choice now was to understand, what. Sean took the long last drag and threw the butt off the cliff. A sound of tires rustling against the asphalt came from behind.

“The hunters. They are here, sir.” Said Patrick, the head of security. A couple of bodyguards stood here as well, while some men were scattered around in the woods, watching through their rifles’ scopes.

A black Toyota pickup truck stopped near the viewpoint. Two people came out of it: a woman and a very similar looking man: both white, tall, athletic, with auburn hair, dressed semi-formally. 

The woman spoke first.

“You are Sean Prescott?”

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Claudia; my brother is Augustus.”

Sean shook their hands, not bothering to introduce himself. They knew who he was. He hired them.

Now spoke Augustus.

“You didn’t clarify our task.”

“I figured it would be better if I told in person. But you probably already know something from your peers and from the cards.”

“The prophecy was disrupted. And the Whale is dead, isn’t it? We couldn’t hear its songs ever since our path took us to the coast.”

“ _ Kaluh _ is silent, yes. But don’t be quick with your assumptions, he is a powerful one.” Sean tried not to grow irritated with this rudeness. He needed the hunters.

“Still, something beat it.” Continued Octavia.

“Not something, someone. It wasn’t the Bird, as the prophecy could imply; but there was a battle, I heard it.”

The siblings looked at each other briefly, as if talking without words. 

“You want us to investigate who fought with your lord?”

“Right. That is why I called you: I want you to find it, whoever that is. If it is still alive. Act secretly, if possible.You are given vast funds, contacts and all the help from the police that I can provide. Visit the wanderers, they may know something. And be quick. I want to fix this mess before it’s too late.”


End file.
